Second Chance at a First Season
by BittahWizard
Summary: "Introduction to Chaos Theory" Part 2 / The one where Stiles and Laura become friends. Or, rather, partners in crime.
1. Card Tricks For Beginners

"You're really good at first-date conversation, huh?"

Laura's intense expression fades at Stiles' forced levity, and then she smiles. "Is this a date?"

Stiles chokes on a fry, his cheeks turning a brilliant red. "That's not, I mean—I, you're _you_ and I'm just _me_ so I didn't—"

Laura saves him with a casual wave of her hand and a knowing sparkle in her eyes. "I'm just messing with you. Don't worry about it." She winks. "It's _definitely_ a date."

That really doesn't help with Stiles' blush. He coughs a few times, clearing his throat. Stiles looks out the window. "I'm not really…good with most people, and I don't even know you—but, for what it's worth, I'm sorry about what happened to your family. If…if you need anything or want to talk to someone, I can be that guy for you. Or if you need a partner in crime," he turns his head back towards Laura and shrugs, "I'm down for that, too." He gestures around the empty diner. "My schedule is pretty clear these days."

Laura leans back in the booth, crossing her arms across her chest. She looks at him searchingly for a few minutes and then says, rather disbelievingly, "You really would, wouldn't you? You'd just…help me, for the sake of helping."

He slurps up the last of his milkshake and nods, "Yep."

"And why, exactly, would you do that?"

Another shrug. "Because I think what happened to your family was horrible. Because I've read the case file and _no way_ is an arson report completed in two days. Because I know what it's like to lose somebody—what it's like to lose yourself in the aftermath of that loss," he clears his throat. "Because you stopped and asked if you could give me a ride, even when I invoked 'stranger danger' at you. And, honestly, because I'm a curious asshole with inadequacy issues and a friend problem at the moment, and I could use an outlet."

Laura blinks owlishly at him. "Fuck, an honest teenager? What a rare species I've discovered."

Stiles snorts, "Nice try, but I'm not that honest. In fact, I'm usually the opposite. You've just caught me at a weird, all-too-self-aware moment in my life, and I have this feeling like I couldn't really lie to you even if I wanted."

"Really?" she leans forward, a strange grin on her face.

"Uh-huh," Stiles finishes his fries. "I think it's the leather jacket and the weird smiles. You look like you could squish me in five seconds flat, and that you _know_ you could." He shivers. "It'd be more unsettling if you weren't so hot."

Laura chokes on her water, spluttering and wheezing across the table. "Is that so?" she croaks.

Stiles just smirks.

Wiping her face with a handful of paper napkins, Laura flags down their waitress. "Give me your phone."

"Uhhhhh…"

She sighs dramatically. "You big, paranoid baby—just, c'mere." And then she reaches across the table and grabs him, snaking a hand into his pocket—he yelps in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice—and snagging his phone. Laura crows victoriously as she waves it at him from her side of the booth. She pauses in her gloating to smile sweetly as she takes the cheque from their waitress.

"What's your password?" she demands once they're alone.

Stiles lowers his eyes and mumbles.

She leans forward, brow furrowing. "What was that?"

Annoyed, Stiles looks at her and pouts. "NinjaVsSharkVsAlien, with every word's first letter capitalized."

He can see she's stifling laughter, so he gets up from his seat and says, "I'll just let you pay for all of this then." And then he stomps away.

"Awww, don't be like that!" Laura scrambles from the booth, slapping a $50 down on the table and chasing after Stiles.

Once they both reach the sidewalk, Stiles turns to her and holds out his hand. Laura smiles at him, typing quickly before slapping it into his palm. "Don't go putting that in any gas station bathrooms."

Stiles looks at his phone. A new contact, _Your Favorite Hale _, has been saved into his phone. The corner of Stiles' mouth quirks up, "Even better, I'll write it all over the high school locker rooms."

Laura smacks his shoulder and giggles, and he can't help but laugh, too.

They walk side by side to the Camaro, bumping each other's shoulders the whole way. When they both settle into the car, Laura starts the engine and glances at Stiles. "So where to?"

"Uh, I actually needed to stop by the police station first. I was bringing my dad his dinner when my car died." He rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

Laura looks back at the diner, "Wait, did we need to go and get—"

"No, no!" Stiles waves his hands wildly. "He doesn't get to eat diner food anymore, not after his last check-up. I've got him on a strict diet of 'dirt and tree bark,' his words not mine, until his cholesterol goes down." He pats the small lunch box sitting at his feet. Laura leans over, just now spotting it.

"How did you sneak that into my car without me noticing?" She looks impressed.

"Well, I did a lot of card tricks as a kid."

Laura raises a brow, now unimpressed.

"No, really!" Stiles continues. "I wasn't, like, _great _at them, but the idea behind magic tricks is to keep peoples' attention focused on something else." He waves his arms around again for emphasis, and Laura perks up, interested. "I've kind of adopted that idea for when I want to be sneaky."

She tilts her head critically. "Okay."

"Okay?"

Laura nods. "Okay."

He directs her to the station, both of them bickering happily as they drive. On the way, Stiles spots the hospital coming up on the left. "Hey, didn't you say that you wanted to go there?" He gestures at the building.

Laura stops at the red light. She grips the wheel a little tighter. "Yes, but I don't—I can't ask you to do that with me."

Stiles drums his fingertips against his thigh. "You know, visiting hours are long over, but I know someone that works there. She'd let you visit Peter."

"How did you—right, Sheriff's kid." Stiles doesn't correct her assumption. She looks out the window. "I didn't even think about visiting hours," she whispers. "I didn't, I've been so—" Laura quiets, lost in thought. The light turns green. She looks at Stiles and asks quietly, "You'd go with me?"

"Yeah."

She takes a deep, shuddering breath and flicks on the turn signal. "Well, alright then."

They take a left.


	2. Vulpes vulpes

Laura is freaking out.

They've been sitting in Beacon Hills Hospital's visitor parking for ten minutes and Laura hasn't said a word.

Stiles isn't freaking out, but that's just because he knows what's happening.

Nobody likes hospitals.

So here he sits, letting Laura freak out.

Sometimes, that's all you can do—sit and wait. It sucks, but then again, so does life.

"I think I'm ready," she says, fingers twitching at the door handle.

"Are you sure?"

"No," but she exits the car anyway.

Wonder Woman was pretty accurate, Stiles muses_. _Then he gets out of the Camaro, falling in step with Laura.

They make their way to the hospital entrance, Stiles gearing himself up for the weirdos that are in the ER this late at night. The many stories he's heard from Melissa about sweet potatoes and candles stuck in butts has made him a bit jumpy.

Stiles leads them through the controlled chaos, weaving his way between staff until he reaches the nurse's station.

Ugh, Gladys is manning the desk. She gives Stiles a look and dismisses him. "What do you want, Stilinski?"

"Is Ms. McCall around?"

The Toad, as dubbed by Scott, scowls and says, "She might be, but she's busy. Now scram."

Stiles senses Laura stiffen next to him. He holds out his hands, palms up to indicate supplication. "Now, Gladys, I came here in need of some medical assistance." He motions to Laura, and The Toad takes reluctant notice. "My friend here needs medical attention, and I figured, why bother Gladys when I know another nurse." He elbows Laura and scrunches his forehead, mouthing _be sick_.

Laura starts to cough, deep and phlegmy—wow, she's good—and pipes in with a nasally voice, "Yeah, real sick."

Stiles shakes his head forlornly. "But if you say Ms. McCall is busy, then she's busy." He looks around the room and sees the small number of night staff already working with other patients. "And from the looks of it, everyone else seems to be busy, too. So we'll just have to ask you, dear Gladys, to help us."

Laura starts hacking louder.

Gladys grimaces and wheels her chair away from Laura. "Now that you mention it, McCall's on the third floor. She pulled long-term care tonight. The elevator's to your right."

Laura turns pale.

"Thank you, Gladys. You've been most helpful." He grabs Laura's hand and practically drags her over to the elevator bay.

Laura and Stiles start cackling as soon as the doors close in front of them.

"That was priceless," Laura gasps as she wipes tears from the corners of her eyes.

"Gladys is pretty predictable. The only thing she hates more than me, is having to actually _deal_ with me."

She side-eyes him as the elevator _dings!_ at their floor. "I'll bet."

They exit and Stiles wanders over to the third-floor nurse's station, slowing when he spots a head of curly dark hair.

"Stiles!" Melissa calls out when she spots him.

"Hey, Ms. M! How's it going?"

She walks over to them carrying an armful of charts. Squinting at Laura, she asks, "What are you doing here, Stiles?"

He throws a thumb over his shoulder and says, "I have a friend who needs to visit a patient. We know that visiting hours are over for the day, but we were hoping you could, y'know," he wiggles two fingers, miming a person walking, "sneak us in."

Melissa sighs, throwing her head back. "You know those hours are hospital policy for a reason, don't you? I can't just let—"

"Peter Hale," Laura interrupts.

Melissa pulls up short. "What?"

"We're here to visit my uncle, Peter Hale. He's a patient here."

Ms. McCall sucks in a sharp breath, and something soft passes over her face. She looks over her shoulder and calls out, "Come with me. We'll verify your identity at the desk. As long as you're family," she gives Stiles a hard look, "it should be fine." Melissa motions for Laura to follow her and points at Stiles. "You stay out of trouble while I'm gone."

He salutes her with a flick of his fingers.

Laura shrugs apologetically at him as she walks away with Melissa, but Stiles just waves her off and points at the little gift shop.

Stiles strolls into the shop, touching practically everything on the shelves.

The older lady sitting at the cash register looks at him like she's about to breathe fire.

He calls it _The Stilinski Effect._

Wandering through the small store, he sneezes at the wilting bouquets and he pets every stuffed animal. Stiles is about to walk back into the hallway, when a flash of color catches his eye.

He digs through the stuffed animal basket, past all of the brown teddy bears and the white kittens, and scoops out a bright red fox. It's sitting, bushy tail curled around its legs. The fox has a smirk and little whiskers on its face, and for some reason, Stiles doesn't want to put it back. He tosses it on the check-out counter.

The lady sets down her magazine and rings the stuffed toy up, huffing as Stiles waves goodbye to her.

_Bitch._

But it's okay, he has a stuffed fox now.

Stiles walks back over to the nurse's station, leaning against the desk as he waits. He doesn't see Laura, so she must have gone in to see her uncle.

He jumps a little when Melissa sidles up to him. "So," she begins, "how's your father?"

"He's fine. Working a lot of night shifts." He gives her a forced smile. "You know how it is."

"Don't I ever," Melissa groans. She gives him a wicked grin. "Did you give Gladys hell?"

Stiles matches her grin with one of his own. "Maybe."

"Good, she's a real piece of work." She reaches an arm around Stiles' shoulder and tucks him into her side. "You're a good kid, Stiles."

He flushes and looks at the floor.

Melissa runs a hand reassuringly over his back. He follows her gaze to room 313. "I think she needs help," she murmurs. "I'm glad she found you." And then she walks away, her arms still full of patient charts.

Stiles walks over to Peter's room and rests his back against the wall.

He stands there for over 20 minutes before the door opens and Laura walks out. She has her phone pressed into her shoulder and Stiles can hear a muffled voice trying to yell through the speaker. Laura turns pleading eyes on Stiles and begs, "Can you go sit with him while I take this call? It'll be like five minutes—ten tops." She doesn't wait for an answer—she just thanks him, walking farther down the hall and muttering into the phone: "Derek—Derek, calm down. I swear to God…"

Stiles hesitates in front of the open door, but he goes in anyway.

The sight of Peter Hale is nothing short of horrifying.

Stiles still remembers the first time he saw the man lying in a hospital bed. He remembers thinking: _so that's what being burned alive looks like._

The entire right side of the man's face is puckered and grotesque. The deep grooves and swirls of Peter's mottled flesh extends all the way down the guy's neck, and from what Stiles can see from his arm, probably continues all the way down his body.

"Hello," Stiles says quietly. He looks around the room, noting a lone rocking chair, a bathroom, a small bedside table, and a dresser. Stiles sits in the ugly chair next to the bed. He opens the side table's drawer and, yep, there it is.

"I'm sure you don't remember me, Mr. Hale, but my name is Stiles Stilinski. I'm here with Laura." He pulls out a worn copy of _Aesop's Fables_ and fans through the pages. "The Wolf & The Shepherd" is dog-eared.

"Once a wolf, always a wolf," Stiles whispers. He looks back up at the man. "I left this here. I did that with all of the books I read. I'd leave whatever I was reading in this drawer every afternoon." His eyes zone out. "My mom was in 314, right next door. When she would fall asleep, I'd wander around the floor. Your room was always empty." He snaps the book shut. "I'd come in here and do my homework, read stories aloud until my dad would come and pick me up."

Stiles runs a hand along the spine. "She died after a year, and I never stepped foot on this floor until now." He snorts. "Your niece assumed that I know you because of my dad, but she's wrong—I don't know you. I was just a 12-year-old kid that read _Grimm's Fairytales_ and _Sherlock Holmes_out loud in room 313." Stiles sighs, wiping a hand down his face. "I was too young to care about anything but myself, and I'm not sure if I can—or even want to—apologize for that. But I'd like to make up for it."

He looks at Peter, really _looks_ at him.

"I'm going to help find who did this to you, Mr. Hale. To you and your family. I'm going to help Laura find them, and whoever they are, they're going to pay." He tucks the book back into the drawer and takes the stuffed fox out of his hoodie pocket.

Stiles places the red fox next to Peter's still hand and—

"What do you think you're doing?"

Stiles flinches backward at the shrill voice.

It's a nurse. Maybe 40 years old. Short. Brown hair.

Dead eyes.

"I'm visiting Mr. Hale," he says, voice hard.

"Peter doesn't get visitors."

Stiles clenches a fist.

She calls him Peter.

There's something off about her.

"You must not have worked here long, then."

Her eyes flash. "I've been his primary caretaker for over a year now."

It looks like she wants to stamp her foot.

"That's _very_ impressive…," he reads her name tag, "_Jennifer_."

She must hear the sarcasm in his voice—honestly, it's hard _not_ to—because she stalks up to him and points a bony finger in his face. "Listen here you little…"

"He's with me," Laura interjects, voice ice cold. "Peter is family, and I said Stiles could be in here. You," Laura gets in her face, "you, on the other hand, are not welcome. I'll be speaking to your superiors." She bares her teeth, practically snarling, and Jennifer's face turns ashen. "You'd better leave and never come back, or I might have to do something I _won't_ regret."

Jennifer leaves, footsteps quick like a startled rabbit.

Stiles' shoulders relax. "You didn't have to do that. It was probably just _The Stilinski Effect_ mak—"

"It wasn't because of you," Laura growls. "Well, that certainly didn't help, but it wasn't anything to do with you." She glances at her uncle, a sickened look on her face. Laura reaches out and gently grabs his unmarred hand.

Stiles looks around, uncertain. "If you're sure…?"

"I am." She takes her hand away from Peter's and steps toward the door. "Are you ready to go?"

He nods, shaking off the raised hairs on the back of his neck.

"Goodbye, Uncle Peter." Laura walks out the door.

Stiles lingers for a second, patting the end of the bed. "I'll see you soon, Mr. Hale." And then he scrambles after Laura.

As the door closes behind him, burnt fingers twitch to life, brushing against soft red fur.


	3. Communication 101

When they pull into the Sheriff Station's parking lot, Stiles grabs his dad's lunch box and steps out of the car. Laura follows right behind him.

He leads her into the reception area, smiling widely at Grace, the dispatcher. "How are you this fine evening, Gracie?"

She giggles at him and offers him a pink Starburst. Grace doesn't let anyone else even _look_ at her candy stash. Stiles takes it graciously, unwraps it, and sticks it in his mouth.

"I'm doing fine, sugar. You bringing your dad his dinner?"

He nods, sucking on the candy. "Yep, I've also got a friend that needs to have a word with him." Stiles looks back at Laura, who nods in agreement. "Can we go on through?"

Grace gives Laura a considering sweep and then buzzes them back. "Sure thing, chicken wing. You go give the boss his veggies." Her chuckles follow them through the gate to the bullpen.

Stiles waves at Tara and Gomez, his favorite deputies.

He makes a face a Haigh, who spits out his coffee all over his desk when he spots Stiles.

_Good_.

Marching over to his dad's office, Stiles knocks twice and enters, pulling Laura in behind him.

His dad smiles at him from his chair, finishing a call with, from what Stiles can hear, ADA Whittemore, a.k.a. The Douche. Or, if you want to get fancy, Mr. Douche.

Either one works.

His dad cradles the phone in the crook of his neck, writing down notes with one hand and using the other to mime the universal gesture for _talk, talk, talk, talk, talk._

Laura laughs under her breath, coughing into her fist to cover it up. The Sheriff hears it anyway and sends her a grin.

"So you come by that sass honestly, eh?" she whispers in Stiles' ear.

"Who do you think perfected it to the point where it could be imitated?" Sheriff Stilinski replies, hanging up the phone. Laura blinks at him and then steps forward. She laughs louder this time and doesn't try to hide it. Holding out her hand, she says, "Good point, Sheriff. I'm—"

"Laura Hale, yes I know," his dad interjects. He shakes her hand and gives her a grateful smile. "Thank you for giving Stiles a ride." The Sheriff looks over at Stiles and shakes his head. "I've had the jeep towed and it's in the shop. It'll be fixed in a few days. Sorry son, but it looks like you'll have to ride the bus to school for the rest of the week."

Stiles' shoulders slump. "Yeah, I figured." He walks over to his dad and gives him a hug. Placing the lunch box down on the desk, he smiles mischievously. "And here's your dinner. Tonight's special is dandelion roots and wheatgrass."

His dad clutches his heart and groans. "You're killing me kid. Cholesterol won't be my undoing, it'll be the absence of taste!"

Stiles wags a finger. "Now you're getting it!" He opens the lid and pulls out a chicken Caesar salad, a baggie full of carrot sticks, and some blueberries. "Here you go, pops."

Noah Stilinski's eyes go soft. "This looks great, Stiles." He fixes a cop's gaze on Laura, who looks like she wants to interrupt, but doesn't know how to. "I'd like to speak to your new friend here."

Stiles rolls up onto the balls of his feet, and then settles back down. "Go for it." He starts waving his arms around his waist, clapping his hands together and whistling nonchalantly.

His dad rolls his eyes. "I'd like to speak to her _now_."

Stiles shrugs. "Sounds good to me."

The Sheriff sighs. "_Alone_."

"Right, right," Stiles feigns surprise. "I'll just be…out here, all by myself, in the cold with—"

"Get out, Stiles."

He huffs. "I'm getting, I'm getting." And then he leaves the office, his dad shutting the door in front of him.

"Hey!" Stiles shouts. "That's not very nice!"

Noah closes the blinds, too.

Stiles sticks his tongue out at the door and then plops down onto the bench next to Tara's desk.

She smiles at him and gives him a small wave.

Stiles smiles back, leaning forward so that he gets her attention. She inches closer.

He steeples his hands in front of his face and asks, "So how many donuts has my dad eaten this week?"

Tara just laughs.

Stiles chats with his favorite deputies for what feels like forever, but what is actually ten minutes. He keeps glancing at his dad's office, wondering what they're talking about.

Laura and the Sheriff emerge while Stiles is in the middle of making a paperclip whip. When he sees them, he thanks Tara for the use of her office supplies and races over. They both look at him with that "I'm older than you" amusement.

Gag.

Noah looks over his surroundings and gestures both of them back inside the office. Once they're alone, he leans against the front of his desk and bites down on a carrot stick. "After discussing a few important details with Miss Hale here, I've decided to reopen the Hale house fire." Stiles whoops, striking the air with a victorious fist. "I've also told her that because there aren't many leads, and because her and her brother were…less than forthcoming before they left town," he gives Laura an impenetrable look, "that she shouldn't get her hopes up." He munches on the carrot. "That case has never sat right with me, but my boss' orders were, well, my boss' orders." The Sheriff huffs. "But now that I'm the boss, and Laura has made an official statement and request, I can look over the evidence again."

"Thank you, Sheriff," Laura chokes out.

"That's great!" Stiles enthuses.

His dad gives him a knowing look. "I want you to stay out of it, son." Stiles pouts, and his dad grimaces. "Don't give me that, Stiles. This is official police business and I want you to stay out of it." He crosses his arms. "_Are we clear?_"

"Yes, sir."

Translation: _I hear you, but I'm going to ignore your request._

And from his dad's groan, they're both speaking Stiles' language.

"And…," his dad continues. Both Stiles and Laura look at him. "If you'd like, Laura, you're welcome to stay in our guest room. I know—I know how expensive it is to find a place to sleep around here, so if you're staying for the long haul, we have a room to spare."

Laura looks like his dad sucker punched her.

"That's very kind of you, Noah, I think—yeah, I think I'll take you up on that." Laura walks up to him and wraps her long arms around the Sheriff in a bear hug. "Thank you," she whispers.

God, Stiles loves his dad. He hugs himself, happier than he's been in a long time. Stiles watches as Laura untangles herself from his dad, waving goodbye as they head out of the office.

Stiles gets another Starburst on his way out of the station and Laura gets a wink.

He gives Laura his address and then sinks into the Camaro's leather seat.

_What a fucking day._

"I know, right?"

Shit, he said that out loud.

"I'm sorry if he sprung that on you. You don't have to stay with us if you don't want to." He thinks for a second. "My dad must think there's more to the case, though, if he offered for you to stay with us. He's either trying to get you to open up, or he thinks you might need protecting."

Laura covers his jittering hand with her own. "Don't be sorry, Stiles. I just…you and your dad are so nice, and I just met you like, fuck, four hours ago? People, in my experience, aren't wired that way." She wipes her eyes. "But you guys _are_. And I'd love to stay at your place." She laughs through her tears. "It'll give me the opportunity to find blackmail photos of your awkward years."

"Well then take a picture lady, because I'm still in that phase."

They laugh all of the way home.

Stiles unlocks the front door, flipping on the lights and kicking off his shoes. Laura immediately shakes off her jacket and tosses it on the back of the couch. She stalks through the first floor, staring intently at photos and rummaging through their kitchen cabinets.

"Yeah, yeah, just make yourself at home!" he hollers.

Laura sticks her head out from the kitchen doorway and smirks, mouth full of what looks like a banana. "Already doing that, thanks!"

Stiles just huffs and heads upstairs to make up the guest room. He digs through the linen closet and grabs a bunch of fresh sheets. Stiles fixes up the bed—he's just finishing the pillows when he hears Laura creaking up the stairs.

"So, this is your room," he says, flopping backward onto the bed. He stares up at the ceiling, wondering what the morning is going to bring.

Laura bounces onto the mattress next to him. "Hey, if you like, I'll drive you to school until your jeep gets fixed."

"You'd do that?"

She snorts. "Duh, silly. Consider giving you rides a down payment."

"On what?" he asks.

Laura pinches his cheek. "Your undying devotion, of course."

Stiles laughs, rolling his face away from her grabby hands.

They lay there in silence.

"I heard you," Laura whispers.

He turns his head to stare at her. "What?"

"What you said to Peter—I heard you."

Stiles frowns. "What? Ho—"

"And that nurse? Jennifer? She smelled like him. He smelled strange when I was with him, but I couldn't figure out why until _she_ showed up." Laura looks like she's about to throw up. "We put him in there to heal, and we left—_I left_—and that wasn't right, but he was supposed to be surrounded by people who would take care of him, who _could_ take care of him. But he wasn't. She's touched him, made him—" she growls, flinching against the bed.

"Laura, what are you saying?"

She turns to look at him, adrift in grief. "Your father was right that me and my brother never told him the whole story. We know why we were targeted, why we were slaughtered." She takes a deep breath. "I've learned over the past six years that I can't keep doing this by myself—I, I need help. And I want it to be you and your father."

Stiles swallows and rolls onto his elbow. She does the same.

"I heard what you said to Peter from all the way down the hall. I smelled how fucking _vile_ that nurse was from 50 feet away. I can hear your heart beating from here. And my family was killed because a lot of them could do the same," she whispers.

Stiles' mind whirls. "Laura, are you saying that you're not, that you're not—"

"Human?" She laughs as her teeth and nails lengthen and sharpen, as the ridge of her brow furrows, becoming distinctly warped, as bristly hairs sprout from her sideburns—through it all, she laughs. Then she stops laughing, and her eyes glow bright red. "No, Stiles, I'm not."

He reaches out a shaking hand and touches the tip of one of her claws. "Then what are you?"

Laura tosses her head back and howls out another hysterical laugh. "Isn't is obvious, Stiles?" She grins at him, incisors bared. "I'm a werewolf."


End file.
